Breaking Point
by Kallie49
Summary: Picard has to live with the consequences of a decision, after he and Beverly are kidnapped by the malicious Gul Madred. Follows on the events of "Chain of Command."
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Originally posted to ASC in December 1996, and updated in 2000. I have been rewatching the series on Blu-ray the past couple of years and decided to update the archives. I'm far from the only one to have followed up on "Chain of Command" with another encounter between Madred and Picard, but I did try hard to ground it in an actual plot. Readers can judge if that was successful or not. Fair warning, it starts off dark and doesn't stray much from that tone. Standard disclaimer (characters aren't mine, just borrowed for awhile!) applies.

* * *

Earth  
La Barre, France  
Two years after 'Generations'

He stared out at the sunny vineyards, reflecting that he probably would miss this place when it was gone. But just as the sight saddened Marie every time she looked out, reminding her of Robert, of Rene, the vines could never bring him happiness again either, not since... He turned away abruptly. After all this time, thoughts of her were still so close to the surface of his mind. It might have been surprising but for the fact that he had retired here to his childhood home with precisely the aim of never allowing himself to forget.

The doorbell rang and he frowned bitterly. _Why doesn't she leave me in peace?_ he asked himself as he went to the door. He didn't try to mask his despondence; it was wasting useless energy in the company of his expected guest. There was no point. But then, there was no point in anything anymore, nor had there been for a very long time. "Good day, Deanna," he greeted her, gesturing her to enter.

"It's wonderful to see you, sir," she replied, favoring him with a bright smile.

Despite himself, Jean-Luc Picard managed a small smile. "Thank you, though I'm not sure why." To divert her attention from that statement, he asked the question, though he'd been told in several communiques: "When are you due?"

"One more month," she answered, patting her rounded belly. "At least according to Dr. Selar, but I think the little guy will be out sooner than that. It's Will's baby, after all." She smiled, but realized quickly she had made a rare error at voicing the physician's name.

Picard's face had darkened. "Yes, well, all the best," he murmured.

"Captain–"

"It's not 'captain' anymore, Counselor," he cut her off sharply, then cursed himself for being so rude. She wasn't to blame for his long done actions, was she? "Forgive me."

Deanna waved it off, quickly changing modes from old friend to professional psychologist. "I have something to deliver to you, Jean-Luc, but I thought perhaps we could talk awhile."

He stood stiffly. "Counselor, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

She brushed past him anyway. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

He wavered, but his ingrained sense of courtesy took over. He certainly didn't want to deny a seat to a pregnant woman. "If you'd like. May I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks." She watched him take a seat across from her in the parlor. "How are you feeling, Jean-Luc?"

Picard sighed, resigned. "If you must know, the same as I have for the last eighteen months."

Deanna Riker studied his face. It had shocked her somewhat to see what eighteen months of those feelings had done to him. He had aged, the lines on his face becoming more pronounced. He didn't look as though he'd smiled since that time. She knew that if he didn't get it out, he would just waste away... "Everyone else believed that you were retiring at the pinnacle of your career," she said quietly.

"But you knew better?" he said, without a trace of mockery.

She shook her head, then dared pronounce the name. "I knew that it was Beverly. I knew you were shattered by her death. What I didn't know, and don't know, is why you feel so guilty."

He laughed, but it was a harsh sound.

"She didn't suffer in the accident, and you weren't to blame."

Nearly choking on his next breath, he glanced up at her dark eyes and the intensity in his, suddenly burning, shocked her as much as the mental outpouring that statement provoked. _My God,_ she thought, _it's so close to the surface, there's so much guilt,_ and his thoughts were so strong that she actually sensed them as words: _You know nothing, you know nothing of my guilt, it was all my fault and she died because of me, of my cowardice, of my failure ..._

"Jean-Luc," she breathed a minute later, leaning forward, "this is killing you. Whatever happened, you can't keep it all inside, you have to take control. If not in me, then confide in someone else. But don't continue living like this."

His eyes were empty now, the flaring of emotion under that tight control he had, but he stood up and walked to his desk across the room. For a long moment he hesitated, but then worked up his courage and pulled a padd from the top drawer. "Do you recognize this?"

She made a guess. "Is it the padd the Cardassian aide gave you after the treaty ceremonies were concluded?" She knew that it was after receiving that the despair he'd felt since his recovery had nosedived to a point where no one could recover him. A day later had come his resignation. She'd always wondered ... but he'd never confided anything.

He nodded, though the action was a while in coming. "Yes." More reluctance. Finally he held it out to her. "Deanna, you don't have to watch; I understand. If you do ... please mute the sound ... I can hear it in my sleep, but please don't play it out loud."

Her face tightened in curiosity and apprehension as she accepted the padd, but she knew this was vital to helping Picard. She touched the "view" button, then glanced up in shock at the sight–

* * *

Deep space  
Somewhere between the Cardassian neutral zone and the Enterprise E  
Eighteen months earlier

"These shuttles are so cramped!" moaned Beverly Crusher as she maneuvered herself out of the co pilot's seat to stretch. "Especially over long periods of time."

"What, are you getting tired of my company?" Picard asked neutrally. He busied himself making course adjustments so she wouldn't see the wry smile on his face.

She made a face at his back, then fell back onto the couch at the rear of the shuttle. "Mmm, I think I'll decline to answer that one, Captain, on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

He threw an amused look in her direction, but she had closed her eyes and was relaxing. For a moment, he let himself watch her. It was a pleasure to see her truly relaxed, as she always pushed herself so hard on her job. He was proud of her, of course; her hard work had paid off in many ways for her career and she was one of the most respected physicians in Starfleet. And yet, she was also the woman he cared most about, and he wished sometimes that she would take time away, take care of herself.

He had to admit some selfish motives in persuading her to take time off and attend this conference with him, once Riker had called it to his attention. Ever since their experience on Kesprytt, nearly every moment he spent with Beverly was full of more meaning for him. He was comfortable around her, his best friend, more so than with anyone else, and welcomed every chance to be near her. But still that ache existed in his chest, from when she had turned him down with those words, "Or perhaps, we should be afraid . . ." He still hoped that someday, she might acknowledge the love he felt, that she surely felt as well . . .

He sighed inwardly. "Well, it's only a half hour more," he assured her.

Crusher opened her eyes and moved back to the front of the shuttle, checking over Picard's shoulder to confirm his reading. "Just making sure," she told him with a wicked grin.

Picard laughed. "She doesn't want to be around me, and she doesn't trust me," he complained to thin air, setting the shuttle on autopilot. "Where did I go wrong?"

She patted his shoulder. "I probably shouldn't answer that question either." She offered her hand to pull him out of his chair and they shared an affectionate smile. As they settled next to each other on the couch, she adopted a more serious tone, bringing up a subject she had dropped the day before. "So, do you think you're ready to go into these negotiations?"

The smile left his face and he sighed. "I don't know," he admitted, honest with her in a way he could be with very few others. "I've dealt with the Cardassians many times, of course, since my ... abduction. But since Admiral Nechayev forwarded the list of people I'll be dealing with …."

"I meant to ask you about that," Beverly said, concerned. "You seemed upset when you read it yesterday before the day's events. Who's going to be there?"

It was still hard to even pronounce the name. "Gul Madred."

She understood immediately; her eyes widened in dismay. "Oh, Jean-Luc."

"He is to be Gul Dikir's chief aide. To her credit, Admiral Nechayev tried to change things, but she was not able to." Picard glanced down at his hands, clenched together. The breathtaking display of bad faith did not bode well for either himself or the actual negotiations, but he'd understood they had little leverage to employ in the matter. "I assured her I was perfectly capable of dealing with the situation."

"But you're not entirely sure of that," she observed, an edge to her voice. He knew her anger was directed at the Cardassian.

"No." It was a difficult admission to make, even to her. "The measure has been made to intimidate me, of course, as the primary Federation representative. I cannot let it do so. Whatever control he exercised over me two years ago, he will not now. And yet, the memories are still there, and I have no doubt he will exploit that at every opportunity."

Crusher leaned forward, her blue eyes intense. He could sense her tamping down her fury at the Cardassians and Starfleet alike, her concern for him foremost. "Jean-Luc, you have beaten him already. He was never able to break you."

Picard didn't respond to that. She was correct, in a sense: though it had been a near thing, he hadn't ever given up his mental control and told Madred there were five lights when there were really four. But he also remembered, as he looked at her, the time when he'd been offered his freedom in exchange for her safety. His choice to stay with Madred so she would not be tortured was one he had never confided to her, but in that instant he had been broken. He broke out into a light sweat now, recalling the shadowy dream of the night before brought on by the day's revelation.

"Jean-Luc?"

He realized she had said his name once already, and he managed a reassuring smile, laying a hand on her forearm. "I'll be perfectly all right, Beverly, don't worry."

"I am worried," she countered frankly. "I'm worried you're going to let him affect you again, when this time you're the one in control. You have to remember you won. He should have no basis for intimidation here."

"I know." His voice suggested otherwise.

She raised his chin until his eyes met hers. "You will be fine, Jean-Luc, I know that. You're the strongest man I've ever met. You just have to go into those meetings and be resolved not to let one comment he makes rattle you. All right?"

His smile was real now. "Yes, sir."

She nodded firmly. "Good." She squeezed his hand where it still rested on her arm, and for a moment he just enjoyed the comfort that simple touch gave him; his hazel eyes locked with her blue ones, communing silently.

The comm signal beeped from the front of the shuttle, breaking the moment. Picard exhaled quietly, stood and moved to the cockpit. "It's the _Enterprise_," he told her as she came up behind him again. His tone changed as he answered the call. "This is shuttlecraft _Oneida_," he said into the speaker, his voice cool and professional.

_"Captain,"_ came Riker's voice, _"we wanted to confirm your ETA."_

He glanced down to see how much time had passed. "We read it as 1730, Number One."

_"Very good, sir. I trust you and Dr. Crusher enjoyed the conference?"_

"Oh, indeed, Commander. It was quite an educational experience."

_"I look forward to hearing about it,"_ Riker said. _"We'll see you soon, then. Riker out." _

He felt Beverly's presence against his back as he broke the connection. "That was an interesting choice of words," she said innocently.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously, glancing back at her over his shoulder, sure he was getting set up here and not knowing how.

"'Educational experience,'" she reminded him. "Jean-Luc, the conference was on Lytellia, a satellite of Risa. How exactly do you suppose Will Riker is going to interpret a comment like that?"

Picard's face colored slightly. "I'll grant you that might not have been the best words to choose to describe it," he smiled, turning to face her. "I never thought about it, but he might have had an ulterior motive in suggesting the two of us go off to it."

"You never thought about it," she repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Good. Because I didn't have any ulterior motives in agreeing to go with you."

He became suddenly attuned to the fact that the space between them seemed to be shrinking. "Do you think we should tell them nothing happened?"

The corners of her lips curved upward. She loved his voice, that endearing accent. "What? And spoil whatever lurid pictures they've conjured up? Jean-Luc, we can't stop the rumors now, I bet they're just getting interesting."

Eyes locked with hers, he couldn't resist suggesting, "We could add some substance to them."

Beverly kept her tone light, her expression innocuous. "Oh really? How?"

He found her hand, twined her fingers with his and pressed his lips to hers, intending the kiss to last only an instant lest he overstep his bounds. As he began to pull back, she sought his mouth again and deepened their kiss for some long moments. Their lips finally parted and he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing deeply, now unwilling to break their connection. Having been surprised by the intensity of her own reaction, Beverly had to catch her breath before she whispered, "Substance. Right."

Picard broke into a smile as he pulled away to regard her, sharing the wonderment of her tone. "Beverly, will you join me for dinner tonight?"

Impish now. "Just dinner?"

"We'll have to see about that."

"I'd love to."

After a lengthy pause, eyes never leaving his, Beverly rubbed a finger on the inside of his palm and then took a step back from him and slid into the copilot's seat. She finally dropped her gaze to the panel and slipped into professional mode. "We'll be dropping out of warp in forty seconds," she reported.

He took his own seat reluctantly. "Very good. Checking impulse engine status . . . all clear."

They waited in composed silence. Thirty seconds later, they decreased speed and came upon the _Enterprise-E_. Beverly glanced over at Jean-Luc and noted the way he regarded his new ship: always with immeasurable pride in her, and a certain awe at the technology that was his to command. He loved his job, she knew, more than anything; he respected the responsibility that had been given him with this new ship and he had infinite trust in the people around him to hold that same respect. She smiled for an instant at those thoughts of him, colored now with the promise of new dimensions in their own relationship, before looking back down at the panel. "Ready to begin docking procedure."

At that moment, their world changed.

The proximity alarms began clanging, and Beverly looked up in confusion. "What–?"

But Picard had already taken in the familiar shaped ship that had appeared to port. "_Merde_," he cursed. "Cardassians. _Oneida_ to _Enterprise–"_

_"Captain, this is Riker. This ship isn't scheduled to be here. I'm hailing them . . ."_

The Cardassian vessel began to fire at the tiny shuttle. "Initiating evasive maneuvers!" Crusher shouted, moving into action. One bolt hit the shuttle, causing a panel to explode in front of her and her hands jerked away for an instant. "Shields are down! Inertial dampeners failing!"

"Riker, can you beam us out?" Picard demanded.

_"Trying . . . Calloway! We need emergency beamout, now!"_

Picard grabbed Beverly's arm and pulled her out of her seat back to the transport area. They could hear the voices from the comm panel: _"There's too much interference, sir, I only have a lock on Dr. Crusher."_

_"Get her out of there, Calloway."_ To the lieutenant at weapons: _"Fire on that vessel as soon as she's out."_

Beverly looked at him, trepidation evident in her eyes, for a timeless instant. He nodded as reassuringly as he could, bracing himself against the wall as the shuttle pitched. He reached for her arm to help steady her as well, but she was already faded from view in the transporter glow.

_"Sir?"_ It was Calloway, panicked now. _"Sir, the signal's gone!"_

Picard's stomach knotted instantly.

_"What do you mean, gone? Get it back!"_ Riker shouted. _"Increase power to the pattern buffer–"_

"Will, do you have her?" Picard demanded, not bothering to mask his horror.

_"Commander, she's gone, sir, the pattern fell apart with the interference."_

Riker swore feelingly. _"Can you lock on the captain?"_ he tried.

At that instant a Cardassian soldier beamed into the shuttle. Picard fell back against the comm panel and grabbed for his phaser. "Will," he shouted, "they've boarded the shuttle–" He tried to get his arm around for a shot in defense, but he wasn't quick enough. The intruder fired, and he fell, and his last conscious thought was an anguished cry of her name.

* * *

"The Cardassian ship is breaking off," Guerra reported.

"Ensign Ryan, set course to pursue on my mark," Riker ordered immediately.

"They have sent one message: Any attempt to follow will result in the captain's death," Guerra added. "They've jumped into warp, sir."

Riker whirled around furiously. "No," he said, frustration and horror burning in him.

Deanna Troi spoke from where she stood beside her chair. "We can't take that message lightly," she said, a stunned expression still on her face. "Will, they've captured the captain before; they'll make good on that threat."

Riker turned away from her, his face falling into a mask. "Data, get me a secure comm link to Admiral Nechayev in the captain's ready room. Now."

* * *

She saw him reach out for her but the transporter claimed her first. When she felt herself standing on her own weight again, she immediately started to call Riker to ask about Picard. A hand stopped her cold, tearing off the communicator from her navy, form-fitting shirt. She looked up insensibly before realizing quickly she wasn't on the _Enterprise_... "Oh God," she whispered. Then the hypospray pressed to her neck brought darkness.

When she was awakened, her arms were bound behind her back and she was led to an empty room. The guards spun her around to face the door again and she stumbled, but the muttered curse at them died on her lips as a new Cardassian entered the room. The two guards gave him a wide berth and she surmised quickly that he was in charge. For a moment he studied her, and she suppressed a mental shudder at the hardness in his eyes. "Doctor Beverly Crusher," he said finally, with a cultured, intelligent voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm sure it is," she said flatly. "Who are you?"

"Oh, come now," he replied. "I'm sure Picard has mentioned me in passing."

And she knew, recalling the name from the painful, terrified accounts drawn out slowly from Picard over the long weeks and months, and from their conversation not an hour ago. Her eyes flashed with long stifled anger at the man who had tortured her best friend. "Gul Madred."

He smiled, but it was not a pleasant sight. "Very good, Doctor."

"He's here, then, too." Her face was now devoid of emotion. "You've brought us both here. Why?"

He wasn't going to answer her directly. "You've had a long history with Picard, haven't you?" he asked rhetorically. "First associations came more than twenty years ago, when your husband and he served together. Then your husband died. You didn't see Picard for a long time, but now you've been together on the _Enterprise_ for several years. I wonder, Doctor, what's happened during these last few years? I imagine the two of you have become quite close." He was standing at arm's length in front of her.

She stared at the wall over his shoulder, her mind barely grasping where Madred's words were leading.

"Did he ever tell you that I gave him a chance to go free in the middle of our interviews?"

She remained mute, but the confusion must have shown on her face.

"He didn't? I can't say I'm surprised. Allow me to tell you, then. You will recall that he had no way of knowing that you and your Klingon had escaped from our little ambush. I decided to play on that gap of knowledge, Doctor. I told him he was free to go, to return to the Enterprise if he wanted. The only condition was that I had you in custody and if he left, you would be the next to be interrogated. He chose to stay, Doctor."

Her eyes darted to Madred in silent shock, mind coming to terms with everything that statement implied. He could be lying, but what would be the point? She saw with utter clarity that Madred had discovered at that time exactly what it would take to break Picard: Her. That thought by itself was enough to send her thoughts reeling. Why her? She'd seen all the physical and emotional scars left by this man, knew how terrifying the torture had been. If he could have left it behind . . . She finally managed, "He would have done the same for any crewmember."

But would he have? With almost anyone else, he would have rationalized that he could better serve them by working from the _Enterprise_ toward their rescue. With anyone else, he would never have continued to be subjected to the pain. With anyone else . . . But with _her_ . . .

Madred was voicing her thoughts. "I don't think so, Doctor. And that is why I have brought you here along with him. With the power to back up my intimations of harm coming to you, I believe I have found the key to my adversary."

It was all she could do to keep from shaking in rage. "What do you want?"

"It's not difficult," he smiled at her discomfort. "I want him to make a confession admitting to a plot by ten named senior officers to invade the Cardassian Empire."

"But that would mean war," she protested, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.

He shrugged. "If you can persuade him, we won't need to harm you."

She snapped out of her shock. "You're going to kill the negotiations, throw away months of work because of your need to revenge him," she pointed out sharply. "You couldn't deal with the fact that in the end, he had more integrity after being beaten down and tortured for days than you ever had in complete control."

The gray countenance stared at her coldly. "Fortunately, my goals and Cardassia's coincide quite nicely at this junction," he informed her. "Your concern for . . . the negotiations," he emphasized the words, knowing she was protecting Picard first, "is not necessary."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Enough questions. I believe it is necessary for you to understand what will happen if you do not persuade Picard to make this confession." He stepped forward with an odd expression and ran his fingers lightly down the side of her face, pausing for only an instant before letting his fingers trail lower. She froze, instinctively trying to shrink away from him, hating herself for the concession to weakness. Reflexively she tried to pull her hands from behind her, but the bindings held fast. Madred watched her carefully. "I would regret it, of course," he said with a fair amount of sincerity as he let his hand fall.

Crusher let a shudder of revulsion pass through her. "I will not be subjected to that," she informed him in a low voice.

"Oh, there are other options, of course," he replied. "I'll show you one thing more. You never witnessed firsthand the effects of the device I used on Picard, did you?" He gestured to her chest, but she refused to look, as if even that much compliance with the bastard was too much. But she was suddenly aware of the cut in her shirt, in her skin . . .

She felt a searing pain in her stomach, in her head, and the air left her lungs in a convulsive gasp at it. Pain, more than she'd ever thought was possible to endure at once, filled her body, and she tried to lean over in a reflexive movement to alleviate it somewhat. But Madred's hand pushed her shoulder back against the wall and forced her to stand straight. Lights exploded in her field of vision; her mind raced incoherently through the haze of pain. _Oh god Jean-Luc is this what he did to you it hurts it hurts I knew and I didn't know—_ Just when she thought she would collapse at the agony, he stopped what he was doing to her.

Her breath came in short gasps as she bowed her head. He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up, studying it impassively. "I think it will be harder on him, actually," he assessed.

Beverly managed to stop the moan that wanted to escape her lips, instead saying, "Let go of me."

He did so, in no hurry, to remind her it was because he wanted to and not because she had ordered him.

She swallowed once, her heart still pounding against her ribs. "I want to see Picard."

"You will, in due course. Although he cannot help you unless he signs this confession." His hand produced a hypo from somewhere and he continued, "I'm sorry to have to do this again, but it really is necessary."

Beverly had craned her face away, but was unable to avoid him as he pushed the hypo into her neck. "Jean-Luc," she cried thickly, and then she passed mercifully into unconsciousness.

* * *

"You abducted me in full view of my ship, Madred, and the negotiations are scheduled to begin in three days. You will not get away with this." Picard was furious and, to some extent, scared at facing the Cardassian in front of him again; he had only felt so helpless as when taken by Madred at one other time in his life, when he had been assimilated into the Borg collective. The man had assaulted his dignity, his humanity, in some long days of torture. He had attacked him physically, but much, much worse, he had attacked his mind. And he had nearly won. Picard had been shaken to the core of his soul at that, and recovery had been a long, painful process. Yet now, Madred could not possibly believe he had the upper hand. What Picard was telling him was true: the Enterprise had seen Beverly killed, heard him being taken, _would not_ allow it to happen. Then why . . . ?

"Of course I will. Not only will I get away with it, but you will help me. You will sign the confession." Madred spoke with an utter certainty that made Picard extremely uneasy.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked cautiously.

Madred smiled at the expression of doubt on his subject's face. He turned away from the man and started circling slowly, showing his complete lack of concern for any threat Picard might pose him, in every way asserting his control. "The last time we met, you and I," he began, "I found out much about you." Picard stiffened. "I found out about your family, I found out about your ship. And–" he stopped now and leaned close to Picard's face to whisper the words, "I found out what will make you break."

He froze, remembering all too well what Madred was alluding to: that moment when he had turned around, turned to stay in the desperate hope that Madred wouldn't harm her. But she was dead. He said so, mechanically.

"Willing to bet her life?" This was said with a smile, a cold, cruel smile.

_God, no._ "What have you done to her?" Picard demanded, his voice deathly quiet.

Madred pulled back, satisfied that he'd indeed been right and pleased with the reaction. "Nothing, Picard. Not yet. But I can't promise that she'll continue to be unharmed, if you refuse to sign this confession."

Picard sat there, in shock at the full implications of this remark. "No," he breathed hoarsely, and then looked up, eyes blazing as he felt the blood rush to his head. He had to draw Madred's focus from her, had to somehow gain control of the situation that he knew on some level was already lost. He grabbed the weapon out of his surprised guard's hand and shoved Madred back against the wall in one short, uncharacteristically violent movement. The other guard shouted at him and raised his own blaster, but Picard ignored him and pushed the barrel into Madred's throat. "You," he said, his voice still tightly controlled, "will let me contact my ship and release both Dr. Crusher and myself."

"I will do nothing of the sort."

"Then go ahead and shoot," he challenged.

"I don't have to," Madred answered, his voice even though his eyes were focused on the blaster Picard had pressed into his neck. He swallowed once and raised a hand so Picard could see. "I can use this." He saw the horrified recognition in the man's eyes at the device, and knew he'd won. "I don't think you want me to hurt her because of you."

Slowly, Picard stepped back and dropped the weapon. It fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed too loud, breaking the moment of silence. He felt, distantly, the guard slam him across the face with the recovered blaster and push him back into the chair he'd been in. The side of his face stung with the impact, but he took no notice, knowing it was nothing compared to–

Madred, composure already regained, rebuked the guard for having struck Picard, then turned again to his prisoner. "I had given orders that you not be touched, Picard. My apologies." He glanced at the device in his hand, as if suddenly recalling its presence. "As for the doctor, I'm afraid that if you don't sign the confession, I will have no qualms about using this."

He wouldn't. Picard was certain of that. He tried once more to draw the focus to himself, having no illusions about his own abilities to withstand anew the torture, knowing only how much worse it would be to see her suffer in his stead. "Madred. Be reasonable. She has nothing to do with any dispute between us. Let her go."

"Make the confession." Madred paused, then continued pleasantly, "No? Very well then. Would you like to see her? I imagine that, independent though she is, she's probably feeling quite alone at the moment."

Picard felt another surge of anger at the gibe, but cooler thoughts prevailed. No matter that Madred was taunting him, manipulating him – he had offered him the chance to see Beverly, and he needed to. Picard nodded once, his face ashen, thinking with increasing dread over what would be done to them . . . to _her_ . . .


	2. Chapter 2

"Beverly."

It was the voice which pulled her back to consciousness, first. Before she even opened her eyes, she became aware of the fact that she was lying uncomfortably on the ground somewhere – why? As she started to shift her weight, a hand touched her arm. Suddenly remembering where she was, she jerked away, until she saw the worried face of the man kneeling beside her. She relaxed visibly. "Jean-Luc, I thought you were—" She let the thought trail off, but not before she saw him wince.

He reasserted his hand at her elbow and helped pull her to a sitting position, then embraced her hard, as if needing to know he could still hold her. She leaned into him, suddenly feeling the fear that had caught her at the 'interview' session bubble up in her throat, and she closed her eyes and returned the hug, feeling the same need. After a moment he let his arms fall away and his eyes searched her face. "He hasn't harmed you?" he asked anxiously as she raked her hands through her hair and took a few deep breaths to clear her mind.

Beverly was unable to stop the grimace that passed over her features, but denied it. "No. At least, nothing beyond the standard prisoner mistreatment," she amended.

But his eyes were drawn to the cut on her chest: the confirmation of Madred's threats, the torture device that had hurt him so much two years before. He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over the scar; she closed her eyes at the goose bumps that arose on her skin, feeling pained. "This is not 'nothing,' Doctor," he said tightly, letting his hand fall, clenched now. "Nor is it standard. I'd expected the truth from you." It was as though he were reprimanding a junior officer for a misdemeanor.

Far from being an awestruck ensign, she stared at him, mind not processing the fact that his anger was directed at Madred. "I didn't want to make you any more worried than you already are," she bit off, then added a sarcastic "sir."

"I am quite capable of keeping my worries under wraps," he frowned, drawing back. "The concern is wasted on me here."

"Of course," she said. "I forgot, you're always in control, aren't you."

A flicker of annoyance passed across his face. "Beverly, I only want to know what he's done, so I can–"

"So you can what?" she shot back. "Stop him? Stop him from using this damned device or from touching me?"

Picard flinched as if struck physically, and she instantly regretted it. "Oh God, Jean-Luc, I'm sorry," she apologized, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, relieved when he didn't recoil.

"No," he said quietly, his genuine exasperation with her already faded. "No. You're right, of course. There is nothing I can do." He suddenly looked very tired, and only then did she notice the fading red marks on the side of his face. "You've heard my options."

Not asking about the marks, somehow sensing what must have happened, Crusher let out a breath. "Yes." A pause. "Jean-Luc, I know it's the only thing you can do, I know. I won't blame you. I would never ask you to sign this confession for my sake. You can't." She ran her hand down the side of his face gently.

He reached up to take her hand away and squeezed it, face drawn but eyes full of anguish. "Even if I did make the confession, he wouldn't free us. And I don't know that the _Enterprise_ will be permitted to take notice of this." He chose not to say that they didn't know she was here at all.

"For God's sake, why not?" she demanded, tapping a new source of anger.

He made a gesture of frustration with his free hand. "Politics. It's taken so long to get the Cardassians to the table that they could do everything short of take over Deep Space Nine and we would have to overlook it. I don't know what else we can do. Beverly, you know I'd do anything possible if I could."

"Yes," she said again, her blue eyes sad, talking about something different entirely. "Madred told me about that. Jean-Luc, why didn't you ever tell me?"

He shook his head, unable to answer at first. "Tell you what? That I was manipulated even further by feelings I couldn't even admit that I had? That the knowledge that you could be tortured frightened me more than anything." His voice trailed off. "I could never admit that to you. I buried it completely: the emotions I had when I learned you were safe and I knew it had just been one more lie ... I would do it again," he said with conviction. "But he won't let me take your place."

"I wouldn't let you, Jean-Luc," she countered, once again overwhelmed with the knowledge of what he had done for her. "But ... thank you."

He raised his eyes to look at her. For an instant they read into each other's gazes, divining thoughts with almost as much clarity as when they'd been linked telepathically on Kesprytt. For two with as long standing a friendship as theirs, words were unnecessary. What she perceived in him was a dread, a profound horror at the reality of the situation he'd been forced into, and a deeply personal concern for her safety. Even if they could survive, he would never forgive himself. And he saw behind her brave front and knew she was terrified at what was going to happen, remembering too well what had happened to him. Involuntarily his hand tightened on hers and she broke eye contact first, looking at their hands. "I won't blame you," she repeated, quietly. "You can't make a choice like this."

Abruptly his features slipped into a mask. "I shouldn't have to," he muttered. "Madred should never have done this, to either of us." He rocked back off his knees and stood up, pulling her along with him. In a lowered voice, on the assumption that the Cardassian was listening in on their words, he asked, "Have you had a chance to see if there's any possible way out of here?"

"To where?" she was going to answer, but suddenly her breath was gone, stolen by the searing pain in her chest. She gasped and pitched forward into Picard's arms, feet twitching spasmodically in the induced seizure. She heard him saying her name over and over again in horror as she might hear in a dream, but she could focus only on trying to force air into her lungs and stop the pain. She wanted to pass into unconsciousness but couldn't, and she remained aware of every shock of pain.

And then it was over, and Beverly buried her head in his shoulder, tasting sweet air in between shuddering breaths. Jean-Luc pressed his mouth into her hair gently and noted with bitter irony that it smelled of the same soft fragrance as it had some hours ago, in the shuttlecraft, before ... before. He stroked her hair comfortingly until she calmed down, and they remained in silence for several heartbeats. Finally he whispered into her ear, in a devastated voice, "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to have to experience what I did."

She drew in a shaky breath. "I know."

"We'll have to hold out as long as we can."

But she could feel that his resolve was almost gone. "We will."

At that moment the door behind Picard opened and they drew apart, quickly, turning as one to see Madred stalk in. He dropped the forcefield, glanced at them measuredly, then motioned to the guard behind him. "Get the woman," he ordered, turning away to exit.

Picard shoved Beverly behind him immediately and started to back up. "Beverly, stay back," he said in no uncertain terms. To Madred: "Leave her out of this. You can do what you want with me, but you will leave her alone."

"Jean-Luc, you don't have to–" she tried.

"That's not the way it works this time, Picard," Madred answered, pivoting calmly to face him.

Beverly stepped back into the corner, but Picard still tried to push further, to get away from the nightmare in front of him. He had to try again, had to risk it even though he lacked every option except the one he couldn't use. "You've done enough for one day, haven't you, Madred? Let her sleep for the night."

"Enough?" Madred smiled without sympathy. "Captain, I'm afraid we're just getting started." He called off the guard with a gesture, then pushed a button on the control in his hand.

Beverly jerked violently against Picard's back and made an inarticulate groan. _God, not again!_ He spun around to catch her as she fell, incapable of supporting her own weight through the pain; her eyes were glazing over. "Beverly!" She gasped, doing her best not to scream in pain for his sake, before the Gul shut off the machine. The guard reached out to pull her away from her now less protected position but Picard held on to her waist, supporting her, and moved them both a step away. "Stop this! Enough!" he shouted.

Beverly looked at him for an instant, knowing what he was saying, before she dropped her forehead onto his shoulder, her breath still ragged. She wanted to speak, tell him she would be fine, she was strong enough, that he couldn't give in now. Somewhat to her shame she found she could not; her body was still too stunned by the successive attacks to protest. She wanted this to end now, and so she leaned against Picard and listened to his words.

Picard looked up at Madred, the rage seething in him ... and broke. All the consequences, all the reasons they had agreed he couldn't speak were not enough. He suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could not be the one responsible for her torture, no matter what the repercussions. "I'll do it."

Madred paused; he had not expected him to make this admission so soon.

"I said I'll make the confession," Picard repeated, louder this time. "You must stop this."

Crusher tried to find her voice. "Jean-Luc, no," she pleaded almost inaudibly.

The Cardassian nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I must say you have caught me by surprise. I thought it would take considerably more for you to abandon your principles. And yet, at the same time, I thought not. Hence this exercise." He smiled. "How simple ... if I had captured her the first time you would have broken then as well. Interesting."

"So now you have what you want," Picard snapped, ignoring the words. "Get it over with and return us to my ship."

The superior smile again. "Ah, that was never part of the bargain," he reminded Picard. "And you will note my reference to this as an exercise."

Beverly raised her head and stared at Madred in shock; Picard's grip tightened on her waist as he came to the same realization she had. As he had feared, this would not be the end of it. A sick feeling twisted in his gut.

"I had to make sure I had found the right key to you. I have." Madred's voice revealed his utter satisfaction before it turned harsh again as he turned to leave. "Now," he spoke to Beverly, "you can come voluntarily or be dragged from here, it really makes no difference to me."

Beverly met Jean-Luc's agonized hazel eyes and stepped away from him slowly, but the irony didn't fail to strike her – she was avoiding use of the device to get her to move so she could be taken elsewhere where the device would be used anyway, oh God ... her mind recoiled in base terror at the thought of more pain, of more violation, and she wavered where she stood. The guard grabbed her arm again and pushed her out of the room. She raised her head with what she could summon of her pride and took measured steps to leave under her own power. Picard's heart ached at the sight – what she was doing was pointless, they would take it all away ... but he didn't say anything to her, merely watched.

"Damn you, Madred," he whispered with cold fury as the door shut. "Why her?"

The malicious look the taller man gave conveyed the answer already burned into his own mind: because of him. It was all because of him.

* * *

They forced him to watch. A part of him shut down completely and died as he heard her screams and futile pleas; he became physically ill at the horror more than once, and shouted himself hoarse demanding her release. He wasn't listened to. He began to suspect, as the night wore on, why it was happening, what the objective of the torture was. And he knew he couldn't stop it, would never be able to, and that hurt as much as the immediate reality of her suffering.

* * *

His head was resting in his hands when they brought her back to the cell, and he jumped up from the bed where he'd been sitting for about twenty minutes. His heart wrenched anew at the sight of her matted red hair and bruised face, along with the useless shift they had deigned to give her as clothing. _Dear God._ She stood immobile for a moment, clutching the garment to herself, before the forcefield snapped on behind her and the guard moved out of the room. "Beverly," he whispered, approaching her carefully.

She seemed surprised that he was there, her blue eyes taking seconds to focus on him. _She's in shock_, he realized dumbly. He touched her shoulder, wanting to pull her into his arms to warm her and offer any comfort he could, but she jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

The devastation threatened to overwhelm him. "I can't do anything, Beverly," he said, his voice hollow, pleading. "He won't let me do anything - I don't know why, I can't stop it."

She turned away from him, beginning to shake.

"Oh, God, Beverly, I'm sorry."

She looked up at him, and he stopped. Anger, shame, and humiliation were somehow all visible in her battered face, only just under the surface, and it was all she could do to hold on to a tenuous control that prevented her from collapsing. She would lose it now if she let him touch her, in any way. Horrified by what had happened, by what she knew he'd seen, she couldn't deal with his realities, with his pain, or least of all with his love. She felt sick at the very thought and could not begin to know how to face him without shattering the conviction that he was not responsible. But she said, "I know." Her eyes were shining for an instant before she dropped her gaze and turned away again. "I know. Just leave me alone."

He reached out a hand to her, a tremendous ache in his chest, but nodded to her back. Whatever she wanted, he owed her that much, because he couldn't do anything else for her. And Madred wouldn't let him take her place. Not this time.

"Just leave me," she whispered again. She sank clumsily, painfully down to the floor in a corner of the small cell, arranging the shift around her as well as she could before drawing her knees to her chest and bowing her head on her arms. But she didn't push him away when he rested beside her a few minutes later, his arm around her shoulders. Her breathing soon slowed to an even rate and she slept.

She wouldn't remember her nightmares.

* * *

Though the constant pain left her body flushed hot, she was shivering. No longer mired in the shock she'd experienced after the first night, Beverly found that while the panic and terror rose every time they came to take her away, here in the cell she could cope by forcing her mind methodically through various exercises. Lists of muscles in the human body, peculiarities of Klingon physiology, pharmacological compounds from her most recent research projects - anything to take her mind off the pain, off the fearful anticipation of the next time they would come for her ... and off Jean-Luc, across the room, whose eyes followed her every movement, wanting to do something for her.

She pulled her knees closer to her chest and avoided looking at him. She hadn't spoken to him since the first session, but she was keenly aware of his presence at all times. He knew something she didn't; she knew him better than anyone else alive and she was certain that part of why he was keeping his distance was the fact that he was hiding something from her – maybe it was to protect her. Anger suddenly flashed in her and she thought, he couldn't do a much worse job of protection if he _tried_. She didn't know how much more she could take, although she did know it wasn't up to her. They would continue to use her long past the breaking point if necessary, and she couldn't give them anything to make it stop. Because they weren't interested in her – only in using her to get to Jean-Luc, for what they still hadn't said. Why couldn't he love someone else? she raged. Why hadn't he just called that bastard's bluff and left, two years ago? _I never asked you to sacrifice anything for me._

There was still the inner voice, after three long periods of the torture – hours, days, she didn't know how long it had been – that reminded her that she understood he couldn't control the situation and she'd told him she wouldn't blame him. And how many times had she wished she could have taken on his suffering at Madred's hands? The grief and guilt at seeing what had been done to him after she and Worf had left him on Celtris III had devastated her, and she had only been with him in the aftermath, not in real time. She knew he would take this all back on himself now in a second if he could; she knew the guilt was tearing him apart and it had to be killing him as surely as if he were the one abused – but hell, it was killing her, too. And she didn't wish this on him, but the pain was so far beyond what she felt able to bear that ending it, in any way possible, was her single driving desire. She wanted to lash out at somebody, anybody, and he was the only one there. She grew colder and her shivering worsened as she tried to suppress all the conflict within her mind. _Psoas major … psoas minor …._

She was surprised when he spoke, his dry throat pushing out words to break their long silence. "I'm going to put an end to this. Whatever it takes, just so he releases you."

Beverly sat silently, hugging her knees in an effort to still her body, and then tried to distract him. She knew she had to or she would explode in recriminations. "What did you ... think about when he had you like this?" she asked finally.

He paused, sensing what she was doing, but answered her honestly. "I thought of all the people I couldn't let down by giving in, least of all myself. I knew there was no way the _Enterprise_ could come back for me, because of orders. But I still hoped that somehow, Riker or Data would find a way, and I had to be all here if they came. I thought about you and Worf, wondered if you had gotten out safely. I went on the assumption you had, at least until ... I thought about you," he repeated instead. "Wondered if you knew I loved you..."

She kept her eyes locked on the floor at her feet, and they let the words pass by tacit agreement.

"I wished I could talk to you, or anybody, so I wasn't alone. And I thought of my family," he finished, quietly. "He was trying to take away my identity so I remembered what made me who I am. Robert, Father ... I knew I had to keep fighting him, and yet at the end, all I could think of was ending the pain." He ran a hand over his bald pate, uncomfortable with the memory and the truth of the last confession.

_Yes, that's it exactly._ She forced down the lump that arose in her throat at his last words and rocked back and forth. Her eyes stung with hot tears. "It hurts," she admitted at last. _So much._ "God, I wish you could make it stop."

The gently accented voice spoke again, and she heard in it the pain evoked by her admission. "I'll try," he promised, standing up, wanting to assure her. "I don't know what he wants, but I'll give it to him. I only hoped the _Enterprise_ would get us back..."

It was a lie. Somehow, she knew it was a lie. "No, you didn't. You never hoped that."

He frowned, distinctly uneasy now. "Beverly, what – what do you mean?"

"Damn it, Jean-Luc!" she burst out, pushing herself up to face him; "don't even try! How long have we been here? We've got nothing left – nothing – and you're lying to me somehow, you know something so that you don't believe we'll ever get out of here. What is it?" She pushed a tangle of hair out of her face, coughing in a vain attempt to clear her throat, and though her words were no more than a dry rasp they were as forceful as a screaming tirade.

"Beverly–"

"Maybe you think it will help me if you don't say – well, who the hell are you to decide? This is your fault, Jean-Luc, and you're the only one who can make it stop, I know you can. And I want you to, I want this to end so badly, and I don't want to look at you like I am and think what I'm thinking. I don't want to hate you – I thought I loved you, but that's why we're here." She was crying now and pushed her fists into her eyes, trying too late to stop the dam holding her emotions.

Further shattered by the sight of tears from the woman who so rarely shed them, he moved to her, stopping directly in front of her, and took hold of her wrists gently. She shuddered and jerked away, turning to the wall.

Picard felt utterly helpless, especially knowing that she was right – it was his fault, all of it. But he couldn't stop it, no matter what she thought. He only knew how it was going to end, and he wanted to spare her from that reality, keep whatever hope there was alive, so he offered no answers. He watched her body shake in front of him and finally wrapped his arms around her, fighting her protests for a moment until she relaxed into him, sobs and coughs wracking her broken figure. He rocked back and forth gently, feeling the tears choke him as well, and guided her gently back to the bed so they could sit down. He stroked her hair, her back, her arms for what felt like hours while she railed against the brutality and indignities the Cardassians were subjecting her to.

The silence of the room began to close in on them, broken only by her shuddering breaths, as time passed. He didn't say a word to her, and she knew it was better that way. So she took comfort not only from him but from the silence. Though the light level always stayed the same, providing a disconcerting sense of timelessness, her exhaustion began to tell and she felt herself drifting off. She fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep, drawing warmth from the arms that held her tightly, feeling – if only in that moment – safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Picard had hovered between wakefulness and an uneasy sleep for several hours before Beverly stirred against him. Immediately he shifted to try to make her more comfortable, but she was already awake, lifting her head from his shoulder to regard him sleepily. His expression relaxed, and the warmth in his eyes was evident though he couldn't quite bring himself to smile. "Beverly."

She answered the unspoken question, her voice hoarse. "It's not as bad."

He nodded once and then looked away, remembering all too well the ever-present soreness and lingering pain . . . Her acknowledgment of the pain she was in from the night before would not be repeated, he knew.

"Jean-Luc." He met her clear eyes. "How long has it been? Since we came here," she clarified.

"Perhaps three days. Why do you ask?"

"The negotiations are beginning today."

"Yes," he acknowledged reluctantly.

Beverly swallowed, still trying to clear her throat, but her gaze held him fast. "If the Federation hasn't postponed them because of us, we'll never get out of here, will we?"

She was challenging him to tell her what he knew, going about it in a more subtle way. He played ignorant, taking her words at face value, praying she wouldn't press him further. "There's a way out of everything," he admonished her quietly, rubbing a hand over her arm. "We have only to find it."

He wasn't going to answer her. Her tone changed, sounding slightly bitter now, though she didn't move away from him. "I don't know anymore, Jean-Luc."

He saw the accusation on her face and relented. He would tell her the truth, no matter how harsh . . . but it was too late. The door slid open to admit Gul Madred, flanked by two guards. Picard's lips drew into a grim line as he assessed the men; he suddenly had a sense they weren't coming for Beverly now – they were coming for him. And not to take her place, which he would have done willingly. No, today would be the day that . . . His mouth was dry.

"Come with me," Madred ordered Picard, displaying the control device in his hand when Picard seemed reluctant to move.

Slowly he let his arms slide from around Beverly and stood, even as he said, "I won't leave her." She stood with him, eyes fixed on Madred.

Madred understood that Picard knew what was going to happen. "I'm afraid you have no choice. You see, though the negotiations have been postponed a day or two, you are still the chief representative, and Starfleet has been calling for your release. I am obliged to meet this demand today. You," and now Madred smiled, "will be obliged to meet mine within the next few days."

"No," Picard said firmly. "Either we both are released or only Dr. Crusher, but I will not leave her alone."

Beverly was trying without success to pick up on what wasn't being said. She looked at Picard uneasily. "Jean-Luc, what are you saying?"

"Do you mean he hasn't told you?" Before Picard could answer, Madred explained smoothly, "The _Enterprise_ witnessed you lost in transport, Doctor. They believe you are dead."

Her eyes darted to Picard, silently begging him not to confirm the truth of this statement, but the answer was plain on his face. "You knew," she whispered, falling back a step, and with that realization the walls came crashing down around her. _This_ was what he had kept from her, then, the fact that crushed every hope of returning home she still had—

"Beverly–" he tried once, willing her to understand.

"There is really nothing more for you to say," Madred cut him off. "Let me spell out what will happen. You cannot back out of negotiating, Picard, if you want any chance of saving her. And you can't tell anyone that she is here and expect action to be taken, for then all I have to do is kill her." He made a gesture with his hand and the guards took hold of Picard's arms. He struggled against them but once again, the direct threat of harming Beverly stopped him.

As they propelled him out of the room he twisted desperately around to see her. "Beverly, please—!"

She was still staring in disbelief at a fixed point of space in front of her; she never even looked up at him. His last glimpse of her fixed her expression of stunned betrayal forever on his mind.

* * *

He was taken to sickbay to ensure that he had not suffered any adverse physical effects during his captivity. That was quickly established. What would take longer was convincing Troi and Nechayev of his mental health once he had filed his report. He claimed he had been held without being harmed or even spoken to at all, and in fact he had no idea why the attack had taken place. Troi misinterpreted his holding something back as grief over Crusher's death in the transporter failure. Nechayev, on the other hand . . .

"Admiral, this attack must, at the very least, be acknowledged. It was a direct violation–"

"I'm sorry, Captain Picard, but it cannot be," Alynna Nechayev cut him off curtly.

"It changes the negotiations."

"And that is the very reason why," she agreed smoothly. "We have worked for months to arrange these meetings, and nothing must be allowed to upset them. I know this attack was an illegal action, but the Cardassian government has assured me it was an isolated incident, not sanctioned by them, and the perpetrator has been taken care of. We have no choice but to believe them, Captain."

Picard controlled his breathing with an effort, glaring at the petite blonde woman on the other side of his ready room desk. "Very well," he said tightly. He couldn't push the issue or she would question him further as to his motives. "What other news do you have, then?"

"Nothing new." She swivelled his computer around, calling up a list to the screen, then turned it back to him. "This is an updated summary of the main objectives the Federation has. You'll have the evening to review them, though I know you've spent several weeks on this now." She paused, her cold eyes evaluating him. "You must do this, and do it completely objectively. If you cannot perform these negotiations now, I will request someone to take your place, and I will completely understand." Her tone suggested she would not. "But you are the best person we have in this sector. Can you fulfill your duties?"

He could not appear hesitant; Beverly depended on him. He nodded once. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Nechayev sipped her tea, appraising him, and then her tone softened. "And Captain, I'm sorry for your loss."

He murmured an acknowledgment.

* * *

Picard came onto the bridge the next morning having not slept at all. Every action, every statement he made led his thoughts to the woman he'd left in the merciless clutches of Madred. It took every bit of self control he could summon to lock away those feelings into a corner of his mind, but he had to in order to save her. Riker and Troi cast several questioning looks in his direction, but he chose to ignore them, concentrating only on the padd in his hand, going over ship's business. He was about to make an escape into his ready room when Guerra reported an incoming transmission from one of the Cardassian ships around the _Enterprise_ and the _Independence_, Nechayev's ship. "Put it on screen," he ordered.

Unsurprisingly to Picard, it was Gul Madred. "Captain Picard."

Sensing Troi's dark eyes on him watching for a reaction, he stayed cool. The negotiations weren't scheduled to begin for several hours. "What may I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had any time available for us to meet before things commence." He was also calm, though Picard knew he wasn't imagining the smug smile tugging at Madred's lips: of course Picard had time.

Riker spoke up immediately from Picard's right, his mistrust of the Cardassian and sense of failure from the week before manifest in his defensive demeanor. "The captain–"

"Can see you at your convenience, Gul," Picard cut him off, rather abruptly, Troi thought.

"Excellent. If you'll transmit the correct coordinates, I will beam over presently."

Picard nodded. "Very good. Picard out." As the screen blinked off to show the stars once more, he stood up. "Number One, I'll be in my ready room when he arrives."

It was Troi who protested. "Captain, are you sure this is wise?"

Picard made an effort to relax his expression, to reassure her as well as Riker, who still looked more than uncomfortable with the idea. "Counselor, I'll have to deal with him in a few hours anyway. What harm can he do now, on the _Enterprise_?" Neither of them looked convinced, but they said nothing more. Picard collected his data padd and strode purposefully into his ready room, not daring to relax even when the doors had shut behind him, else Troi would be full of questions later.

He had been staring without seeing at the small computer screen on his desk for several minutes when the door chime beeped. It took no small effort to still his pounding heart, though his impassive face revealed nothing. "Come."

Guerra entered, followed by Gul Madred. Picard nodded to her, eyes focused on Madred. "Thank you, Lieutenant." She kept her hand on her phaser as she left the room, and Picard knew she would be stationed directly outside the door.

"I must say, you're very good at keeping control in front of your crew," the Cardassian said mildly. "I knew I respected you for a reason. Tell me, do they know about your current predicament?"

"Is she still alive?" Picard demanded, ignoring the question.

Madred was going to draw this out, it was clear. "To whom do you refer?"

Picard slammed a palm down on his desk, glaring upward. "Damn it, Madred, do not insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about." He knew he was being manipulated, but he didn't have the will to fight it. Not when her life was at stake.

"No." Madred dropped a padd in front of Picard on the desk, having pressed a button to call up an image. His tone was coldly businesslike now. "She is offering no resistance to us now. She is broken. We haven't let her have anything to eat or drink except for water. I don't believe she will last much longer. She has given up." He paused. "You can stop everything, Picard. The Union has only one request, and we'll give her back to you."

Picard's eyes were fixed on hers in the picture, and they were empty. He felt queasy. "What do you want?" he asked finally, ready to agree to almost anything.

"Control of Minos Korva."

His head snapped up. "Minos Korva – out of the question, Madred."

"Then the next images you see will be of her death."

"Even if I were to recommend it to the Federation, they would reject it," he said, trying desperately to maintain a reasonable tone, feeling her slip out of reach even as he tried to hold on.

Madred was unmoved. "That sounds a great deal more your problem than mine, Captain."

That was it, then. He could not deliver Minos Korva; he could not save Beverly. There was a lump in his throat that made it extremely difficult to swallow, to breathe, but he placed his hands on his desk and rose. His accent was pronounced as he said, his voice surprisingly steady, "Do what you will." _I will not allow myself to be manipulated any further by you, you sick bastard._ "Now, I believe the negotiations aren't scheduled to begin until fourteen hundred hours. Lieutenant Guerra will escort you out."

Madred nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. You will hear from me later."

As the doors swished shut behind him, Picard felt his knees give way and he sank back into his chair. That terrible ache in his chest now threatened to overwhelm him ... what had he just done? "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing she'd never hear, never understand. How could she, if he didn't? _The most important person in my life ... is gone... _

* * *

There was a drive and intensity that few could recall seeing in Jean-Luc Picard as he conducted the negotiations with the Cardassians for eight days. Critics across the Federation and Cardassian Union hailed the Dikir-Picard Treaty as groundbreaking and incredibly promising. It would help seal friendly relations between the governments and put to rest the major border disputes, though Maquis activity might not be stopped entirely. The Federation called Picard's actions nothing short of brilliant, especially in light of the tragic fact that he had been held captive by Cardassians twice, and suffered the personally trying loss of one Dr. Beverly Crusher, with whom he had been associated for more than twenty-five years...

* * *

"Sir, one of the Cardassian aides requested this be given to you at the conclusion of the treaty signing ceremonies." Will Riker held out the Cardassian styled data padd. His blue eyes were skeptical, but also somewhat curious.

"Thank you, Number One," Picard said softly, turning from the full length window to acknowledge him. "I was expecting that."

When he offered no further explanation, his first officer pursed his lips and nodded, then turned to other business. "Beverly's memorial service will be tomorrow. Deanna said you should be the one to give the eulogy."

There was raw pain in Picard's eyes as he looked up at Riker. "The counselor would be better suited to that; she was her best friend. I ... I don't think I'd be up to it, Will."

"I understand, sir." And he probably did. Riker had seen his share of loss over the years, and he had been Beverly's good friend too. But he didn't know how she had really died, and he didn't have this guilt hanging over him like a dark spectre, ready to follow him wherever he went from now on.

"Then you'll tell the counselor." Picard sighed and looked at the screen lying on his desk. "That will be all, Number One."

Riker nodded again, respectfully, and left ... left him alone with ... Picard picked up the data padd, his mouth dry, and pressed the button to activate the screen. Beverly was there – she looked up slowly from where she was sitting on the floor, still in the same cell as before. Her eyes were dull from the constant pain, but something she saw in Madred's face must have made her realize that it was different this time. She whispered something, so low he couldn't hear it, and there was real fear in her expression as she tried to back away before Madred activated the device.

The screams were not loud enough to penetrate onto the bridge from where Picard sat, but they burned in his ears as loudly as though they originated inside his own head. His stomach heaved and he fell to his knees, shaking, feeling himself shut down at the devastating reality that he had hoped, until the very last moment, would not be reality. But it was, and it was his fault…. He grabbed the padd and threw it across the room violently, trying to distance himself from her death and pain.

He turned in his formal resignation from Starfleet the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Back to the present...

Picard took the subspace call in his study, feeling drained from his encounter with Deanna Riker. She'd left not twenty minutes before, quietly, despite her shock somehow still accepting and not condemning him: "You can't change the past; you did everything you could." She had ordered him to report to her office on the _Enterprise_ the next day. He knew he could not argue, and didn't really want to at any rate. It was a relief, in a way, to finally let someone know what his crime had been... He noted the unusual transmit coordinates on his screen but opened the channel.

"Captain Picard?"

"This is Picard, yes."

"Dr. Julian Bashir, sir, of Deep Space Nine. I believe we've met before."

Picard inclined his head in affirmation, vaguely remembering the younger man from his days on the _Enterprise-D_. "What may I do for you, Doctor?"

"Yes, sir. Yesterday a freighter ship arrived here at the station from making a run inside Cardassian territory. Her captain told me he had picked up a passenger from a battered Maquis ship that was trying to get into Federation space. Though he had misgivings, he brought the passenger here."

Picard tried not to look impatient. "Your point, Doctor."

Bashir's intelligent dark eyes glanced him over for an instant. He was making an assessment, Picard realized, having seen the look on Beverly's face many times in the past. He was interested in protecting a patient, and wondered if talking to Picard would keep those interests. Evidently he came to the conclusion that Picard was trustworthy, for he answered: "Sir, the passenger ... was Beverly Crusher."

That was somehow the last name he expected to hear. The color drained from his face. "You are quite certain?" he managed at last.

"Quite," the doctor affirmed, sympathetically, Picard thought through his shock. "I had believed she was dead, but ... She asked me not to reveal her identity to my staff – of course, they don't recognize her as I do. She also asked me to contact you, sir. She'd like you to come here if at all possible."

"I, ah – yes, of course, I'll get passage immediately. How ... how is she, Doctor?"

Bashir hesitated. "Actually, sir, not well."

"What do you mean, 'not well'?" he demanded quickly, feeling the familiar sense of loss return to him abruptly. He looked down, realized he was clutching the edge of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white.

His sister in law chose that moment to stick her head into the room, knocking softly on the open door. "Jean-Luc, I don't mean to interrupt..." Marie Picard trailed off at his expression. "My God, what is it?"

"I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, Captain," Bashir was saying, "but she's dying. She's been working with Cardassian victims of Maquis and other border attacks for a long time now, and contracted an aggressive cancer-like disease in the camps around the military hospitals," he said delicately. "I can't treat it, sir, and I've tried. She knew that when she came in; she'd already figured out what was wrong and knew there was nothing to be done."

"I see," he said calmly, though he didn't see at all. He couldn't see anything except the image of her face flashing in his mind's eye. Then he remembered Marie and glanced up quickly, saying only, "I'll need to leave for Deep Space Nine immediately." She accepted his statement without question and disappeared again. Picard turned back to the screen: "How much time does she have?"

The doctor let out a breath. "A few days, maybe a week. That's ... that's why she doesn't want me mentioning her to anyone except you, sir, and Captain Sisko of course. She doesn't want the circumstances of her death to be dredged up and questioned. Those were her exact words, sir."

"And you're honoring her request," he said neutrally. God help him, she was protecting him. After everything that had happened, she was protecting _him_. He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, trying to deal with all the revelations coming at him at once.

Bashir actually looked embarrassed. "Yes, well, it's Dr. Crusher, Captain. She was the best doctor in the fleet ... it was the least I could do." He paused and frowned. "I would let you speak with her, but I have her under sedation for the pain. It would be best to wait until you arrive."

He nodded a few times, his mind racing. "Tell her I'll be there as soon as possible. And Dr. Bashir ... thank you."

"Not at all, sir." The young physician signed off.

Picard remained in his chair for several minutes after the screen had gone dark, and twilight darkened the room as well; the sun was setting outside. The thoughts poured through his mind with barely a pause, a jumble of fragments. _so long ... she was alive, beverly was alive, but she wasn't alive, for she was dying, dying of some disease given her by the hated cardassians, (damn madred,) but she didn't blame him for she was protecting him by not letting people question her death so the truth wouldn't come out_

Marie came back in the room, silently offering him a satchel already packed with what he would need for his trip, but he could not stand to accept it. She helped him up gently, and he looked at her gratefully, tried to explain: "Beverly's alive." Marie smiled at him then, happy for him. She hugged him as he shed tears for the first time since it had all begun, the joy and sorrow of what he had learned overwhelming.

When the _Enterprise_ left orbit the next morning for the journey to Deep Space Nine, Picard was on it.

* * *

After the last, terrible period of torture, which had left her near death, Madred decided she had another, more useful purpose. She was sent to Cardassia Prime to work in a hospital, one which treated those who had been wounded in border attacks. Her initial refusal to assist in any way was changed rather quickly by seeing the sick ward. She was a doctor; she was better trained than any of the Cardassians; people needed her help ... even if the majority of those people resented help from a human, and a woman at that. She was almost never refused help from the other doctors, who recognized her skill, but she was still a prisoner and subject to the whims of any of the military officers who visited the hospital to check on their men.

On the first night, she lay in her spartan room that was locked from the outside, and thought about killing herself. No one would ever come look for her; they thought she was dead. Even Jean-Luc, for she was sure that was what that last attack had been – a way to convince him she was dead. So she was alone, stranded, forgotten. She coldly contemplated the idea of taking her own life for several hours, and then she rejected it: she wouldn't give Madred the further satisfaction. When the full weight of her situation crashed in upon her, she lay on her bed, wishing in spite of everything that Jean-Luc was still with her, and cried herself to sleep.

On the second night, the full meaning of what this kind of life would entail became apparent when an officer took a liking to her. She had already been through this abuse, on the ship, and barely endured it. Kept in check by the device that remained in her chest, she was forced to endure this as well. She was already becoming numb. She did not cry.

On the third night, she felt nothing. She withdrew into her own mind, so afraid to feel anything anymore that she did not recognize she had a fear. She slept easily.

Every now and then she was admitted into the jail cells of Maquis prisoners, in order to heal them so they would be well enough to stand the Cardassian farce of a trial. Had she let herself care, those cases would have been even harder than her normal ones, for she knew that, despite all of her efforts, after the trials these men and women would be summarily executed. But they knew that too, and somehow even accepted it, and as a small matter of defiance they became her rare sources of information from the Federation. Once she came across a former Starfleet officer.

"You're not Cardassian," the woman, a hard-edged pilot named Michaels, had observed, seeming to show no signs of the pain she must have been in. Only her talkativeness had revealed how scared she was. At the moment, though, her tone was roughly accusatory. "What are you doing here helping them?"

Beverly Crusher snapped open her instruments, cumbersome Cardassian models, and assessed the woman's condition: broken left femur, dislocated shoulder, assorted cuts and bruises. "Not by choice," she murmured briefly in answer. "They didn't give me much of one."

"No," Michaels grunted as Beverly wrapped a regen bandage around her shoulder to reduce the swelling. "I don't suppose they did. I'm sorry. Where did you used to work?"

Beverly continued her work, not looking at the woman's face. She found it too difficult to be responsive, even when she found a human face to talk to. "Starfleet. I was on the _Enterprise_."

"Starfleet? I did a stint on the _Independence_, before I got fed up with the whole thing. It was after that sellout treaty was signed by Picard. I don't know if you knew about it, but it did nothing to help the people living along the border, gave the damned Spoonheads everything. I joined up with the Maquis as a pilot to fight for them."

Her hands had stopped at his name, betraying her.

Michaels glanced up when Beverly paused, realized quickly what she'd said. "Oh. I guess you knew Picard."

"Yes." Beverly hesitated, then pushed ahead: "Do you know what became of him?"

"Yeah," Michaels said quietly, sensing this was a subject of importance. "Yeah, he retired right after the treaty was signed, maybe six months ago. I think he went back to Earth."

Retired. Damn him, he had retired, and even if he'd never revealed the reason to anyone else, she knew. It was mostly her fault, of course – he would have remembered how she had been so bitter at the end, and blamed himself ... but she didn't blame him for anything. She knew that with a sudden certainty – whatever circumstances she was in now, it wasn't his fault. He had loved her; he had never intended any harm to her, and he had tried to give her hope ... even though he'd failed. She let out a breath, surprised to realize it carried his name. But she knew she'd probably never see him again, unless she could get out of this hellhole, and so he would live out an isolated life at home in France and she would live out her days as a prisoner of the Cardassians. She felt a stab of bitterness ... and regret. And then she pushed it aside and went back to work, managing to smile her silent thanks to the young pilot.

Michaels' trial would be a major one, and Beverly heard the talk among the Cardassian patients when the woman was hanged two weeks later. It meant nothing.

Another year had passed before an opportunity to escape arose. It was late at night, and she was still working. They let her take extra time with the Maquis victims when she asked; though she couldn't admit it to herself, she wanted to keep human contact. This night, it was a Bajoran man in his mid thirties, Tare Reikel. She was monitoring the effects of his treatment when two Cardassians came into the room.

Beverly looked up in detached surprise; they never came to check on her, not after all this time. But something was different with these men, she could sense it as she studied them. One pointed to Tare. "You're coming with us."

She was long past the point of protesting, but surely they could see that Tare was in no shape to be moved at this moment. "His trial isn't for two days," she said quietly, even as she stepped away from his bed. "And his leg is not healed enough for transport."

He looked at Tare, a fact that was odd in itself. "Who is she?"

Beverly frowned. "You're not–" she realized, but he had held up a hand to stop her.

"No."

Tare spoke up, still sounding sullen, but all traces of pain were gone from his expression. He knew these men. "She's a doctor, a prisoner too. Look, I can't move."

"Guess what. You don't have a choice. Let's go." They both moved to take his arms, but they were gentle about doing it. Tare grimaced, obviously in pain despite their efforts. She heard the second man whisper, "Take it easy, Reikel."

The first had pointed to her. "You – come with us. He'll need a doctor."

She understood, and consequently did not change her expression beyond a flash of gratitude in her eyes. She nodded once, followed the men out of the room. They were allowed out of the prison when they explained their Gul had some unfinished business with the prisoner; she was merely following them out, on her way back to her room. When they had passed out of sight of the compound, one of the 'Cardassians' smiled at her. "We've got a ship waiting in orbit, cloaked. You can come with us – this mission is already dangerous enough as it is, one more escaped prisoner won't make a difference to our pilot."

She nodded emotionlessly, afraid to be hopeful. "It's been so long," was all she could say. "I'd appreciate whatever you can do."

They were beamed up to the ship, and managed to escape orbit without being pursued. She knew that their absence would be noticed soon, but their head start gave them a small advantage. When, two days later, they had come upon the Federation border, near Bajor, Tare told her they had arranged transport to get her to a Federation station, if she wanted. "I know you weren't given a choice in helping me recover, but I still appreciated it, Beverly," he said, giving her a small smile from his bed, where he was still resting his leg. "Obviously we can't show up at Deep Space Nine, but we know a freighter pilot, a good man. He'll get you home, everything'll be fine."

Everything wouldn't be fine – she was dying, she had known that for some time now. But now she wouldn't die alone ... there was only one person she wanted to see, and she knew he would come.

* * *

"I wish there was something more I could do," Julian Bashir said regretfully as he led Picard and Will and Deanna Riker from the docking ring to the infirmary. They stepped into the turbolift and it began to descend smoothly.

Deanna offered him a small smile. "We're sure you've done everything possible, Doctor."

"Sometimes that's not enough," Bashir admitted, troubled. The doors opened onto the Promenade and they stepped out, attracting not a few glances from curious Starfleet personnel in the corridors. The current and former captains of the _Enterprise_ were simply not a regular sight out on the border. Picard was not aware of any of them, though; his mind was focused on who was waiting for him.

They entered the infirmary and Bashir gestured them toward a door. "I'll be out here if you need anything."

"Actually," Picard spoke up, "Will, Deanna, would you mind waiting here for a moment, as well? I don't think I shall be long, but..."

They exchanged a glance, reaching a mutual decision quickly. "Of course, sir," Deanna said softly. Her dark eyes managed to be happy and sad at the same time.

Letting the door shut behind him, Picard took two steps and faltered. She was there, resting propped up on a biobed, just now turning her head to see him. She had cut her hair and she was thin, painfully thin, but _she was there_. And that was more than he had ever expected to see in his lifetime. Everything he had wanted and planned to say flew out of his mind and the only word that came to his lips was her name.

Her eyes filled with tears as he approached the bed and for a moment they remained that way, she sitting and facing him, he resting his hands lightly on the edge of the bed. She held his gaze for as long as she was able, trying to say everything without saying anything, and then she raised her arms to him almost hesitantly. He slid his arms around her, tentatively at first as though he couldn't believe she was really there, then tightly as she responded in kind. It was a desperate and relieved embrace at the same time.

After a moment he pulled back just a bit, a smile on his face that contained an emotion she had never seen in him before. Eyes still wet, she let out a nervous laugh: "You made it."

He gently brushed her hair out of her face with his fingers. "So did you."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

The smile remained on his face but he dropped his gaze. "I can't believe you'd want to, after what I did."

Beverly blinked the tears away, seeing in the lines of his face every single day of the last eighteen months, seeing that he truly had not ever forgiven himself. She wanted to give him freedom from that guilt. "I had a lot of time to think about it," she conceded finally, then paused. "But I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Think about it. Much," she allowed. "And when I did, what I thought was that I couldn't blame you for what happened."

"You had every right to," he said, still refusing to believe her.

She shook her head. "I forgave you a long time ago, Jean-Luc," she said quietly. "You couldn't sacrifice the treaty for me, even though you wanted to. And I know – I know why you did what you did. I wish you'd been able to forgive yourself. You could have stayed in Starfleet, gone on with your life."

He grimaced. "You knew about that." A difficult pause. "If it had been anything else, Beverly, anything, I could have gone on. You know that. I have too many times in the past. But I couldn't live with what I'd done, at least not live a life in Starfleet. The worst thing I could do to myself was go home and simply ... exist ... with the knowledge. So I did."

She embraced him again. "Please tell me you won't do that now," she whispered, staring at the wall behind them as he held her. She felt a spasm of the too-familiar pain pass through her body but his warmth muted it. "When I'm gone ... you'll go on living, go back to your ship, your life ... That's the best thing you could do for me."

"Don't speak of that," he said in a low voice, almost begging her. The lump in his throat made it difficult to speak. "I've only just found you ... I missed you so much. I can't lose you again, Beverly, I love you."

"Promise me," she said, closing her eyes at his words.

He took a deep breath. "I will," he promised finally. "I'll go back."

She let herself relax completely in his arms, knowing things were all right now, even as her breathing was becoming more shallow. "Jean-Luc?" He made no answer, but she knew he was listening. "I love you too."

How long had he waited to say those words, and to hear them echoed? And he thought he had lost the chance forever. He hardly dared to breathe in that moment that he had waited almost thirty years for.

Beverly wanted to stay as they were forever, but the pain she had been fighting too long was pushing its way back into her consciousness. She would not admit to him the pain she was in, but only to fatigue. His eyes were bright, betraying his emotion, but he helped her sit back against the bed, the back of which was tilted upward.

Picard tried to smile. "I'm not the only one who wanted to see you, you know," he told her. "Do you feel up to seeing some old friends?"

She considered for a moment, and then she nodded, trying a smile of her own. He went to the door, and her smile became real as she saw who he was leading in. "Will – Deanna, oh my God, you're having a baby!" She glanced between them, a sparkle in her eyes that hadn't existed for years. "I always said you two should get married."

Jean-Luc Picard stood back and watched as the two women attempted to hug, then gave up and laughed as they realized how awkward things were. He could see how happy she was, and for that small instant, he allowed himself to be happy as well.

* * *

He stayed at her bedside all night, sitting and holding her hand. For the longest time, he just watched her face as she slept, memorizing the details. She looked peaceful, all the lines of pain and weariness and loneliness erased with sleep. He let his thoughts drift backward through time, remembering most of all the friendship and heat and unfulfilled promise of those last hours in the shuttlecraft.

She opened her eyes slowly. It was difficult to breathe this morning. The first things she saw were his concerned hazel eyes looking at her from beside her. She swallowed once, smiled.

"Good morning."

"Been awhile since I've heard you say that," she managed. It took a lot of effort to speak.

"Yes, well," he said quietly, and cleared his throat. "It's been awhile since we've had breakfast together too. I thought I could arrange that, if you'd like."

"No. I'm not that hungry, Jean-Luc, sorry."

He nodded, fighting to stay in control of himself, and squeezed her hand.

"Do you ever," she asked thoughtfully, staring into space, "think of that dinner we might have had?"

"The night this all began," he affirmed. "All the time, Beverly."

"It would have been ... different from all the other times we had dinner, I think."

"I'm certain of it."

There was a long silence. There was everything in the world to say, but almost none of it mattered, not a word, and neither of them knew how they'd say it even if it did. Her breathing sounded labored in the stillness, and then she said the one thing that did matter. "I've always loved you, you know."

He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it as his eyes filled with tears. "I know."

"But I was afraid..." She stopped, squeezed his hand once, and then closed her eyes again. "I'm tired, Jean-Luc."

"Rest, Beverly," he said gently as he reached out to smooth her hair. "I'll be here ... if you need anything..."

He knew that she had died even before Bashir rushed in with his instruments, grimly looking for signs of life ... but she was already gone ... and Picard let her go.

* * *

Epilogue

Earth  
San Francisco, United States  
Six weeks later

"Gentle, now, sir," said Deanna Riker anxiously as she passed the warm bundle over to him.

Jean-Luc Picard grimaced. "I've never been that comfortable around infants," he admitted, taking the baby rather awkwardly.

Will Riker smiled broadly. "He's fought the Borg," he told his wife. "Stared down Romulans, gotten into bar fights with Nausicaans, saved the Federation a few times."

"Thank you, Captain," said Picard in annoyance.

"But he can't hold a one month old baby without being scared," Riker finished grandly.

Deanna laughed. "Stop it, Will," she admonished him, then reached out with one finger to take her baby's hand. The little fingers closed around hers tightly. "Isn't she beautiful, Admiral?"

"Of course," Will said in exaggerated surprise; "she's our baby, Deanna. What else would you expect?"

Picard glanced up at him. "I think being a father agrees with you," he said dryly, then answered Deanna's question. "She is quite adorable, really." He studied the infant's tiny face as she looked around, taking in her parents and godfather with large dark eyes. "Sarah Beverly . . ."


End file.
